


Crowley Shops for a Therapist

by Lucky (LuckyKid)



Series: Crowley Struggles With Self Harm [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Genderqueer Crowley (Good Omens), Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Nonbinary Crowley (Good Omens), Passing threat of forced hospitalization, Transmisogyny, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 20:36:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20014444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyKid/pseuds/Lucky
Summary: Finding a therapist you click with is hard. It’s even harder when you’re a nonbinary demon.





	Crowley Shops for a Therapist

**Author's Note:**

> This could be read as a stand alone but fits into the series “Crowley Struggles With Self Harm.”
> 
> Also, apologies to anyone who's in a coven. I have no clue what that is like so i wrote it similar to a book club or support group.

1.

The first therapist Crowley met with was Dr. Irene Johnson. Her listing stated that she used DBT and CBT, two therapies with which Crowley was familiar and a good enough reason as any to set up a meeting. The first appointment seemed impersonal and formulaic, but that was fine.

It was what happened at the end of this first appointment that made it his last appointment with Dr. Johnson.

“So, Mr. Jay, if you decide to continue therapy here then we will start next week’s session with an assessment of your perceptions of the world. I believe you are facing some breaks with reality and that may be the root of your trouble.”

“What?” That couldn’t be right. “What in Heaven gave you that idea?” He had taken the precaution of making up a reasonable birth year and he hadn’t said a single thing about being a demon.

“Part of being a therapist is listening to what is said and then listening to what is shown.” She looked Crowley up and down. “You didn’t list any medical history that would require sunglasses indoors. You’re also wearing a skirt; you’re not a woman, Mr. Jay.”

Crowley thought he exercised great restraint. The psychiatrist’s sudden digestive problems only lasted two weeks.

2.

That first experience taught Crowley to narrow his searches to therapists who explicitly listed that they were ‘gender affirming’ or that they worked with LGBTQ clients. The second therapist he saw, Rebecca Anand, LCSW, had both written in her profile.

“What’s the main reason you’re seeking therapy?” Crowley didn’t really want to go through this again. It was uncomfortable–painfully so–but it would help support him and, thus, help his angel.

“Self harm.”

The therapist looked confused.

“But you’re a grown man.”  _ Why did humans have to make so many assumptions? _

“I’m not, actually.”

“Not what?”

“A man. I’m not. I’m not a woman, either, to be clear.”

“Oh.” It took a moment for understanding to dawn on the therapist’s face. “Oh! Yes. We were trained on that.”

She turned to her desk and pulled a small pamphlet from the bottom drawer.

“Okay, let’s see. What are your preferred pronouns?”

“He/him/his.”

“Bu–not they?”

“No.”

“But… you’re not a man,” she asked, seeking clarification. This was miserable.

3.

Dr. Taylor Smith, the third therapist Crowley tried, had worked out well enough for a month. Then the doctor gave Crowley an ultimatum: if he self harmed one more time, he would be sectioned off to a hospital. Crowley attended one more session with Dr. Smith in order to avoid anything that may be called ‘rash behavior;’ he didn’t want to give the medical professional any further reason to believe that he needed to be placed in a psychiatric hold against his will.

At that final appointment, Crowley spoke with a cold intensity while he calmly stated that he didn’t feel their working together would continue to be effective.

4.

The fourth therapist just made him uncomfortable. It felt like his existence was burdening John White, LSW. 

There wasn’t any one, solitary thing the therapist did that caused Crowley to feel this way. It was the small things. They built up, quickly: his frown each time Crowley walked in; the sighs he’d make whenever Crowley started to describe his automatic thoughts after being triggered; and the fact that, when the appointments would reach the end of their 50 minutes, the therapist would swivel around in his chair, face his computer, and dismiss Crowley without another glance.

Crowley thought he could keep trying to work with him–he could manage. He could do that for Aziraphale.

After a month and a half, his angel shared that Crowley seemed to always feel worse after these appointments. It was a hard conversation, but Aziraphale’s concern helped convince him to give up on working with John White, LSW.

5 and 6.

The fifth and sixth therapists acted like repeat performances of those who came before.  _ It shouldn’t be this hard to find a therapist. Must have been my lot who invented psychiatry. _

7.

Crowley actually saw his seventh therapist for a little over a year. Yasmin Patel, LCSW was a gentle soul. She let Crowley set the pace and eventually he felt like he could share things freely–that his words wouldn’t be misconstrued nor seen as a bother.

She didn’t take well to hearing that Crowley was a demon. It was disheartening, to say the least.

\- - -

“I’m trying, angel. Honestly, I am.” 

Crowley was lying on the couch in the back room of the bookshop. It was a week since his frightened former therapist asked that he never contact her again and Crowley was tired. He didn’t want to keep searching for therapists. He didn’t even really want to go to therapy in the first place. All he wanted to do at this moment was lie upside down on the couch with his feet hanging over the back.

“I know, dear.”

Aziraphale sat down beside him and ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair. It was gentle and kind, more kind than Crowley deserved. For the last two years, the angel had been a constant, loving support and Crowley was draining him. Aziraphale had asked, back on the first night of the rest of their lives, that Crowley find trained support. He tried, but like so many other times in his life, he failed.

Crowley pulled his angel’s hand over to kiss his palm. He couldn’t keep doing this to Aziraphale; he either needed to find a therapist or leave. He was about to mumble an apology when Aziraphale spoke again.

“Maybe we could reach out to a coven.” The look on the angel’s face could only be described as mischievously inspired. “That demographic may have some recommendations for a queer friendly therapist who is either already aware that occult beings walk the Earth or is, at the very least, open to that possibility.”

“A coven?”

“Yes, what’s wrong with that?”

“If I step into a coven, I might not come back out. They’re going to think I’m trying to possess them and you know how dangerous humans are when they’re scared.”

Aziraphale gave an amused smile before raising their clasped hands to his lips.

“I’ll go with you. I’ll be your guardian angel.”

“Ugh, gross. Stop,” Crowley said as he pulled Aziraphale closer to cuddle.

\- - -

“Mr. Fell, thank you for reaching out to the South Englaland Coven. You are very welcome here.”

The living room where the coven met felt like it belonged in a grandmother’s house. It’s style was dated and the blue wall paper was peeling in places, but it also was a space that had clearly served countless others over the years and it would be open to keep welcoming more. A plate of homemade cookies would have fit in seamlessly.

“What brings you to us today,” the coven leader[1] asked. 

Crowley took this time to look around as he stood off to the side, behind Aziraphale. Most of the womxn were sitting on couches, armchairs, and stools pulled in from the kitchen, though a few stayed standing. None of the witches were holding pitchforks or wearing shirts that read I HATE DEMONS, so that was a good sign.

As he scanned the room, he found a familiar, freckled face.

“I know you two.”

The mad American woman with a bicycle.  _ Great _ .

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry. Who are you?”

“Nutter woman,” Crowley leaned in to mumble to Aziraphale.

“Oh! How delightful. Hello again.”

Crowley groaned quietly at the ceiling. It was bad enough laying this out in front of a group of potentially hostile strangers. Having to ask for therapist recommendations from someone with whom you’re distantly acquainted made it so much worse.

“Anyway,” Aziraphale continued. “As I was saying, we’ve come here because we believe your group may be uniquely situated to help us find what we’re looking for. You see, we need a good therapist.”

The room stayed silent for a minute as the witches stared in confusion. To all but Anathema, Aziraphale and Crowley were just two eccentric but otherwise unremarkable strangers who had taken the trouble to find a group with no traceable presence for a request that could have easily been solved by a Google search.

Finally, one of the witches spoke.

“Are there any specifications to your search? Does the gender of the therapist matter or are there any other necessary qualifications?”

Aziraphale looked to Crowley at his shoulder before quietly asking a question.

“How much would you like to tell them, dear?”

“I’m looking for someone who’s gender affirming and not scared of occult beings.” His answer was just loud enough that others in the room could plausibly have heard him.

“They should be gender affirming and not scared to work with occult beings,” Aziraphale repeated for anyone who hadn’t heard Crowley[2]. 

There was a gasp and a soft hum of whispers. Suddenly the two unremarkable beings’ presence seemed much more interesting. It also made much more sense.

Crowley felt the eyes of all thirteen womxn on him but was far too deep in shame to care that his cheeks were turning a deep red.

“I have a few names I could recommend.”  _ Thank someone for the American. _

“Thank you,” Crowley all but whispered. The witch nodded in response.

\- - -

Anathema, the American bicyclist, had given them a list of three names. She also offered to set up introductions if Crowley wanted. He thanked her, but declined. She looked through him for a moment before adding her own mobile number at the bottom of the list, in case Crowley changed his mind.

Of the three names, Crowley only ever needed to reach out to the first on the list. After using their shared knowledge that Anathema was a person who existed, Crowley was able to transition into telling the therapist, on the very first visit, that he was a demon. The therapist took the news with the same reaction sie might have had if Crowley had shared that he actually wasn’t a big fan of  _ Black Mirror. _ It made everything else so much easier to talk about.

**Author's Note:**

> [1]This was not the same person who held the title last week. Nor would she be the coven’s leader next week. The role rotated on a weekly basis, unless the selected womxn had to attend a PTA meeting or meet up with a cloaked stranger, selling colorful liquids in unlabeled bottles, in which case she would be passed over until the rotation cycled back around.[return to text]
> 
> [2]Which was every human in the room.[return to text]


End file.
